


Peace

by Leif Writes (FrankensteinsMomster)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Malcolm Bright has Issues, Other, References to Depression, Short One Shot, post S1 Ep14, this is how I'm dealing with ep 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankensteinsMomster/pseuds/Leif%20Writes
Summary: It had happened so fast and was over in moments. Every second would be seared into his memory forever. It replayed in his mind over and over. The weight of the tool in his hand, the sharpness of its point. The surprisingly small amount of pressure it took to pierce through his father's clothing, skin, and finally his heart. The look on his father's face. The sounds he made. The blood. The horror in his mother's eyes.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Peace

He had tunnel vision. Everything he had spent the last twenty years trying to prove, to disprove, gone in a moment. He felt sick. The bile rose in his throat and filled his mouth. Absolute and complete disgust filled his mind and body. 

It had happened so fast and was over in moments. Every second would be seared into his memory forever. It replayed in his mind over and over. The weight of the tool in his hand, the sharpness of its point. The surprisingly small amount of pressure it took to pierce through his father's clothing, skin, and finally his heart. The look on his father's face. The sounds he made. The blood. The horror in his mother's eyes. It would stay with him for the rest of his life. 

What worried him the most, more than the shame, the guilt, the anticipation of what would happen next, was the sense of peace that had filled him for just a moment. The absolute weightlessness. The relief. Euphoria. 

He had spent his whole life fighting against the assumption that he was a killer. He saw it in the eyes and mouths of his classmates. In the carefully posed questions of doctors and therapists. On his mother's face when he first showed interest, an obsession, with death and murder. He saw it cross the mouths of coworkers, friends, and lovers. He saw it in his own face in the mirror every day of his life. And for a moment it was true. For a moment he was a killer. 

It was an educated risk. He knew the human body better than most and his father's body, so similar to his own, he knew even better. It had to be done. There was no better way. No quicker way to save another innocent human life. 

He wasn't a killer though. Not really. Not yet. Always one for dramatics Martin was clinging onto life. He wasn't dead. He was barely alive. And whether or not he was truly a killer hung in the balance waiting for a miraculous recovery or a quiet release. 

He knew that if his father did die he wouldn't, he couldn't, let his mother take the fall for it. He would tell the truth. He wouldn't be another man in her life that made her suffer for his actions. He would be punished. And when he went to sleep there would be no more nightmares because he was already getting what he deserved.


End file.
